


Anteros' Arrow Strikes One Heart While Pothos' Strikes Another

by FaunaProductions



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Erik and Meg are happily married, F/M, Fluff and Angst, that fine line between a sorta fix-it and simply I needed to make changes for my own enjoyment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaunaProductions/pseuds/FaunaProductions
Summary: Erik and Meg have spent the last 10 years together.Over that time, love has slowly blossomed, and they've declared their love with the rings on their fingers.Mr. Y runs Phantasma with Mrs. Y as his star.What could ruin their happiness—except, of course, the object of Mr. Y's obsession from so many years ago, Christine Daaé?-this entire story has been inspired by this art piece:https://drreallyreallystrange.tumblr.com/post/627284064108429312/so-the-other-day-i-stayed-up-until-almost-four-amas well as subsequent rambling with the artistmuch love to snows!! <3
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Meg Giry, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Soft Whispers, Soft Touches, Soft Mornings

It's the first day of the season and Phantasma's Ooh La La Girl can't quite put into words what she's feeling.

It's 5 AM and she's listening to the steady breathing beside her.

He doesn't sleep often—a mixture of insomnia, bad choices, and a tendency to focus on his projects so intensely that he forgets to care for himself—so the sound is comforting and she can't help but smile to herself.

She looks at her husband, his unmasked face completely relaxed.

She gently touches his deformed cheek, and she thinks he cannot be more perfect.

She wishes he could see himself how she sees him. How she adores every twist of his skin that he hates. How she wants to press her lips to every broken part he tries to hide from the outside world and kiss him until he's better.

He's become more comfortable in recent years as she sings his praises, but he's never really at ease without his mask, unless he's alone with her.

Her heart swells to know she is the only one allowed to see him like this, completely vulnerable with his biggest insecurities on full display. The trust he puts in her makes her feel like this is her place in the world, by his side for the rest of their lives.

Her hand drifts away from his face, her fingers dragging across scars on his neck, then his shoulder, then his chest.

She thinks of the stories they tell, stories of horror, and adventure, and things he dare not speak about with anyone but her.

She remembers how he was when they left for America, his expression those days always reminded her of a caged animal—frightened, with nowhere to go, and trying to gain control over a situation in which he had none, so he bit and snarled and whimpered instead.

They had seen each other in the worst of times, and they found solace in each other.

He saw her for herself. While others saw her as just another girl with a nice body, he saw her worth beyond a price that might be paid for a night with her. Instead he saw her soul weighed against a white feather, declaring her innocent despite her shortcomings.

And she, in turn, saw him for himself. Others saw a monster, or a freak, but she saw that he was just a broken man who struggled to pick up the pieces to put himself together again. A man who desperately wished to be whole, if only he could learn how.

In each other, they found what they wanted, and what they needed.

"You're up early."

His soft voice pulls her from her thoughts and she looks at those eyes. The eyes that  _ see _ her, rather than looking at her or past her. The eyes that shine with adoration as she talks and with pride as she sings.

"I haven't slept," she admits quietly, "I'm too nervous."

He turns onto his side and holds out his arms—she knows he is not big on words, but his gestures of affection are something she cherishes with her entire heart.

She moves closer and he gently pulls her to his chest. "Sleep," he says, and it's almost a command, or a form of hypnosis as his fingers carefully comb through her hair. "Your first show is not for several hours yet, you need the rest."

She laughs softly, and presses her forehead to his chest. "Will you be staying in bed with me when you could be composing?"

"For you, my Marguerite, always."

Oh, how her heart soars at those words.

She feels safe, and warm, and  _ wanted _ in his arms. He holds her gently but protectively, like it's the two of them against the world.

As she drifts off to sleep to the sound of quiet humming—it's a new piece, she thinks absentmindedly as her consciousness begins to slip—she decides there's no place she would rather be than in bed, in her husband's embrace.


	2. First Show Of The Season

"Mrs. Y!" one of the chorus girls greets her enthusiastically when she reaches the dressing room.

She does a quick glance over the girls, counting heads as they hurriedly fix their hair, or makeup, or costumes.

She frowns, taking her hair out of the messy bun she'd tossed it into when she'd finally managed to pull herself away from her husband.

"Girls, aren't we missing a couple?" she asks, unbuttoning her dress.

"Daisy and Kate are runnin' late," Lisa answers, trying to get a run out of her tights.

"Kate's babysitter ducked out last minute," a girl called Patch adds, speaking around the gum in her mouth. "Daisy's niece volunteered, so they were goin' to drop him off with her."

"Oh, how is Kate's baby?" Meg asks, slipping her dress off as she steps into her feathery costume.

"He's absolutely adorable!" Lisa says, finally giving up on the run with a huff to instead apply mascara to her eyelashes. "He talks a bit now, he calls me Lise!"

"Here, honey, let me help," Patch tells Lisa, kneeling to fix her tights. "Hey, Meg, is ya mister attending the show?"

"He'll be keeping out of sight," she answers, a smile on her lips. "He would never miss opening day!"

"Y'really scored with that one," Justine says, fanning herself. "An' I don't even go for men!"

Meg laughs, putting the final few bobby pins into her hair. "Okay, girls, how do I look?"

"Oh, honey," Patch says, arching an eyebrow. "He'll get one look at ya and faint."

Daisy and Kate hurry into the room, stripping as they go.

"Sorry, Mrs. Y," Daisy says, grabbing her costume from the rack. "My niece yammers on, and lil bit didn't wanna stay, we got out fast as we could."

"It's okay," she tells them, smiling.

Meg wants kids, she always has. She watches the children gleefully run around Phantasma and thinks about a future with children of her own—not now, of course, but someday.

She brought the topic up with Erik, about a year into their marriage. She knew that he would need time to acclimate to the idea, but she didn't want to scare him before their marriage, or too early into it.

He didn't say much—a simple "We can discuss this later, okay?"—before making an excuse to go to his tower, saying he had songs to compose and automatons to build.

He did not spend the next night in their bed, nor the next, nor the next after that. He did not even lurk around the house.

She allowed him three full days to collect himself before she did it for him.

She sought him out, finding him in his tower.

He let her ramble on about how they need to communicate, they're married, he can't just leave when he doesn't feel like discussing something. She understood back then—and understands now—that there's no way for him to break the bad habits built over a lifetime in just a few years, but she puts her foot down when he needs grounding, or simply needs some sense knocked into him.

When she calmed down, falling silent in a room that is so large but so filled with dreams brought to life that it feels almost cramped, he wordlessly gestured to his face—a movement which speaks a hundred words for a man like that.

"Oh," she said and he looked ashamed until she shook her head. "I don't care. I'll still love our children, just as I love you."

"But I would never wish this fate upon anyone," he muttered, unable to look at her, instead opting to stare at a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. "Much less a child."

"It's okay," she assured him, and the genuine way she said it made him look at her with wide eyes as she took his hand into both of her own. "I'm focusing on my career anyway."

He frowned, eyebrows furrowed—or, at the very least, his visible eyebrow furrowed. "You want children..." he paused, considering her words and then his own. " _ Later _ , then?"

He still seemed doubtful so she laughed softly to ease his anxieties.

"My love," she said, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "We have all the time in the world."

Meg is pulled out of her reverie by the five minute call.

"Let's go, girls!" she grins, giving herself one last glance over in the mirror.

They excitedly chatter as they make their way toward the stage.

" _ Meg _ ."

She knows she is the only one who heard the soft whisper, a trick of throwing voices her husband had picked up many, many years ago.

"I forgot something in the dressing room," she says, turning to go back. "I'll only be a moment, girls!"

She starts toward the dressing room as they continue to the stage.

A hand grabs her from the shadows, pulling her behind one of the backdrops. "Hello."

She laughs, looking up at her husband. "Hello there, tall, dark, and handsome."

"I just wanted to wish you luck," he says, hands wrapping around her waist.

She puts her arms around his neck. "They just gave us the five minute call, you can't wish me too much luck."

He chuckles warmly before he leans down and their lips meet in a gentle kiss.

"Oh, my Marguerite," he murmurs, pressing a second kiss to her forehead. "You will no doubt amaze the audience."

"Not if I don't get out there on time, my love," she points out, laughing softly.

He nuzzles his nose against her hair, inhaling deeply which he releases in a long sigh. "You're correct, of course, as always."

He releases her and steps back.

She smiles as she turns to meet her girls on stage with just enough time to get in position for the first show of the season.


End file.
